LVIII
Do you
think any other life form in all of creation
Is as
ludicrously self-absorbed as humanity?
* * * *
All
pain is born of existence,
Of the
illusion of time and space,
Of the
separation created
Solely
in imagination.
* * * *
How can
the unborn ever grow old?
* * * *
How do
I know what I know?
The
same way you do.
* * * *
One day
the dream will be over,
And you
will not even know it.
* * * *
You
must see what you cannot see
To
comprehend what you truly see.
* * * *
The
notion that you are an individual
Is what
hinders the unborn realization
That
you are in fact indivisibly one
With
its inherent liberation.
* * * *
It is
not what the scribe knows he is which counts
As much
as what he knows you are as well.
* * * *
What is
any one’s dreamtime universe but what
Is
seen, heard, touched, tasted and smelled,
And
altogether that which you imagine
Into
remembering and forgetting
As
consciousness dictates.
* * * *
These
word are a single-minded conspiracy
To
somehow inspire consciousness
Toward
an intuitive paradigm
Beyond
the linear confabulations
Humanity’s
mind has up to now played out.
* * * *
The
other has the frame of reference you give it.
* * * *
You are
the immortal playing out mortal fare.
* * * *
Does
the reality require
The veiled
dream of consciousness
To
sustain its true nature?
Nah.
* * * *
How
else could godness witness creation
But
through manifest eyes?
* * * *
All
your life you have created
Everything
your universe entails.
* * * *
What is
the body, really, but a vehicle,
An
absorbing, filtration, waste disposal unit,
A
energy machine directed by mind and senses?
* * * *
You are
that which is godness, a very simple, reverent fact.
If you
seek a more complex answer, reason or purpose,
It is a
free will choice born of ignorance and a desire
For
unceasing complexity, division and suffering.
* * * *
The
unfolding is fluid, timeless, indivisible,
Interrupted
only by the boundaries of the mind
Caught
in the individual web of sensory experience.
* * * *
What
conditions do you place upon your universe?
* * * *
The
cockroaches will dance upon our grandest tombs
With
nary a though of historical meaning and purpose.
* * * *
Judging
another sets you apart from the stream.
* * * *
How
many times have you asked yourself
What
the point of all this is?
* * * *
What is
it to “be” effortlessly?
* * * *
What is
the no-mind mind,
The
solid which is space,
The
space which is solid,
The
reality which is dream,
The
dream which is reality?
* * * *
The
dream woven with desire
Inevitably
tandems with many passions.
* * * *
All
your divisions leave you incomplete.
* * * *
What a
fascinating mutation the human species is.
* * * *
Let
consciousness roam where it will
And,
sooner or later, it will inevitably breed
Confusion,
division and suffering.
* * * *
What
born of time can ever be preserved?
That
which is boundless, neither made nor unmade,
Is the
Self-evident firmament prior to all limited illusory notions
Played
out in the ageless weavings of consciousness.
* * * *
At the
center of the wheel is the witness, solitary and serene,
Gazing
out upon the spinning kaleidoscope of dreamtime.
It is
the knower of the ground, the eye of all eyes,
Untouched,
detached, free, resolutely still
Amid
the tempest of the illusion of space-time,
Journey
the passionate carousel or seek genesis,
It is
the free will choice of the mind choicelessly aware.
* * * *
You do
not need scientific proof or expertise
To
point out the obvious?
* * * *
Each of
us wanders through space-time
Protecting
our bodies, our things, our egos.
Few
ever realize how little is truly possessed,
That
all experiencing is akin to the sands of time
Steadily
rushing through the neck of the hourglass
No
matter how it is twisted, how it is turned.
* * * *
Far easier
to indoctrinate a complex lie
Than it
is to point out the simple truth.
* * * *
You are
that eye am.
* * * *
Those
satisfied with symbols, rituals and traditions
Are
like children fascinated with shiny baubles
Of no
real significance but to narrow minds
Caught
in the murky mayhem of time.
* * * *
The
elixir of time can begin so sweetly,
Yet how
often it ends such a bitter brew.
What
strength to harvest contentment
No
matter the storms of life’s passing.
* * * *
To
value only human life is the poppycock
Of
conceited ethnocentric thinking.
* * * *
Only
through overt manifestation
Can the
dream occur at any level of creation.
Even
the most ethereal celestial planes of beingness
Are
subject to one binding parameter or another.
* * * *
What
happens to this universe or any other dream state
Is the
concern of clay figurines attached to the illusory matrix.
In
sense-bound ignorance, they tumble in the ageless waves of time,
Never
discerning the oneness prior to the onslaught of delusion.
* * * *
Thought
bubbles through the maze of consciousness
Caught
in the many devices of its own creation,
Unable
to discern a resurrection to reality
But
through a selfless destruction.
* * * *
The
maze, the wheel, the kaleidoscope
And
every other analogy ever concocted
Are all
in your head.
* * * *
Discern
the strength and insight
To die
while still living.
* * * *
Though
the wheel of life spins and spins,
The
revolution is the now never born.
* * * *
In
every tale there is an assumption, a foundation,
A keystone
without which the dream cannot be built.
* * * *
Time
passes far more quickly at the outer edge of the spin
Than at
the stillness of the unknown center point of oblivion.
* * * *
Look to
the sins of humanity’s passing to discern your plight
And the
paradigm necessary to continue your seed line.
Learn
the errors of history or fade into the oblivion
Much
sooner than time’s dream need allow.
* * * *
Everyone
in this realm abides the same bodily functions.
There
is nothing to be proud or embarrassed about.
Vanity
is humanity’s most ludicrous aspect.
Most
bodies are quite grotesque
At one
moment or another.
* * * *
Where
light has no entry,
Neither
does it have an exit.
This
clarity the known can never discern.
* * * *
What
makes sense often makes no sense,
And
what makes no sense is often
The
greatest sense of all.
* * * *
These
writings merely reflect that
Which
needs no confirmation.
* * * *
You are
truly beyond all want.
* * * *
As this
realm is imagined,
So are
all others.
* * * *
The morticians
probably laugh
At your
darkest secrets.
* * * *
Greater
and greater
The
detachment grows
As tie
after tie is discerned
And
knot after knot cut.
* * * *
Work
through whatever it is
You
think there is to work through
To find
that requiring no effort whatsoever.
* * * *
Embrace
or reject these sundry thoughts as you will,
There
is naught but a dream no matter the varied opinions.
* * * *
Greet
both success and failure with the same detachment.
They
pass the same when given impersonal weight.
* * * *
Current
events are never truly current,
Merely
effects of causes and causes of effects.
History
creates the dream and the freedom nowness allows
Is
ignored by the masses so easily hypnotized
In
time’s countless sideshows.
* * * *
Each of
us views a kaleidoscoping light show
Through
a personal screen of perceived experience.
No
dream is truly superior than any other,
Though
perhaps some are more
Clearly
perceived.
* * * *
Truth
is very simple, but it is not infantile.
* * * *
All
riddles are answered intuitively.
* * * *
Dogma
is not as joyous as so many
Would
deceive themselves into believing.
There
is a passionate madness which is not
The
divine madness alluded to herein.
It is
the irrational nature of individualism
Taken
to endless extremes by limited minds.
* * * *
Peaceful
resolution to this world’s divisive condition
May
seem many millenniums away, but its seed potential
Will be
same now it has ever been and will ever be.
It is
the realization of the choiceless choice
Born of
the unborn, duality’s light show
Played
out in the unitary movement
From
which all creation springs.
* * * *
There
is no discussing any subject
With
someone who cannot investigate
Their
myriad assumptions dispassionately.
They
cite historical texts, experts and collectives,
Shield
themselves with fearful, convincing persuasion,
And
self-righteously judge all those who would dare question
Until
negation sifts every doubt imagination might pose.
* * * *
Even
the devil is godness.
Those
who in confused ignorance
Separate
themselves from the beingness
In
which consciousness plays out the illusion of time.
* * * *
The war
between good and evil
Is one
waged entirely in imagination.
Their
reality is as unsustainable
As
anything ever concocted
Within
the dreams of time.
* * * *
Those
who truly see godness
Find it
everywhere.
* * * *
Before
Abraham, Jesus, Buddha,
Lao
Tzu, and all the others,
You are
that I am.
* * * *
God is
all, and that means you, as well.
* * * *
No soul
is lost,
Maybe
just confused for a time.
* * * *
The
flame is the fuel’s potential,
The
destiny into which all is consumed.
* * * *
You
enjoy the wave of consciousness in its graceful crest,
But its
inevitable ruin is wrought with suffering.
Attachment
to either is the pain.
* * * *
You are
one rolled into all destinies
And all
destinies rolled into one.
* * * *
Dogma
is as harsh and unforgiving
As a
desert beneath a perpetual sun.
* * * *
Do you
want it, do you need it?
Do you
only think you want or need it?
So many
threads of habit we are attached to
Without
profound introspective awareness as to why.
* * * *
Is joy
a product of vain consciousness,
Or from
that which is prior to the conceptual patter,
The
theatre of dreamtime surrounding the indivisible seed?
* * * *
There
are clues everywhere,
Seers
in every realm.
* * * *
We are
so easily distracted
But
what is so unimportant.
* * * *
Are you
happy, are you sad?
Would
you even notice
If not
for the discomfort of both?
* * * *
Physical
manifestation can never really resolve
The
fundamental friction of its inherent duality.
* * * *
Perception
is interpreted by the mind conditioned in time.
No
snowflake is ever seen the same in two different minds.
* * * *
Humanity
documents its vanity as if it will last forever,
But the
manifest world is not that which is eternal.
Prior
to all concept is that without beginning
And
after all words is that never ending.
All
forms are temporal permutations,
Creation
ever dissolving in time.
* * * *
It is
the spontaneous dreaming of the senses
Which
you have absolutely no real say over,
And to which you can only resist or surrender.
* * * *
Good
and evil, like all dualistic notions
Are
born of imagination’s delusional sojourn.
* * * *
The
child, a sponge of the senses,
Observes
in timeless, surrendering wonder
As
surrounding concepts imprint upon its awareness
A
personality-identity to which it will subscribe
For the
remainder of its vain existence.
* * * *
Oneness
is not without the other
To
witness its illusory reflection.
* * * *
You are
reading this because you have managed
To
survive the many challenges and chances
Of your
conscious journey thus far.
Why?
Is the
impossible question.
* * * *
Free
will and choice are among
The
many catechisms of delusion.
* * * *
Do you
really want to go
Where
most self-proclaimed leaders
Will
probably be more than pleased to lead you?
Be very
cautious who you follow.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The
Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
©
Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World
Rights Reserved